who you live with here, and who are your companions, and what
you do with yourself."

"Why, I live with Mrs Charlton; and for companions, I have at least a
score; here are her two grand-daughters, and Mrs and Miss--."

"Pho, pho," interrupted Lady Honoria, "but I don't mean such hum-drum
companions as those; you'll tell me next, I suppose, of the parson and
his wife and three daughters, with all their cousins and aunts: I hate
those sort of people. What I desire to hear of is, who are your
particular favourites; and whether you take long walks here, as you
used to do at the Castle, and who you have to accompany you?" And
then, looking at her very archly, she added, "A pretty little dog,
now, I should think, would be vastly agreeable in such a place as
this.--Ah, Miss Beverley! you have not left off that trick of
colouring, I see!"

"If I colour now," said Cecilia, fully convinced of the justness of
her suspicions, "I think it must be for your ladyship, not myself;
for, if I am not much mistaken, either in person, or by proxy, a blush
from Lady Honoria Pemberton would not, just now, be wholly out of
season."

"Lord," cried she, "how like that is to a speech of Mrs Delvile's! She
has taught you exactly her manner of talking. But do you know I am
informed you have got Fidel with you here? O fie, Miss Beverley! What
will papa and mamma say, when they find you have taken away poor
little master's plaything?"

"And O fie, Lady Honoria! what shall _I_ say, when I find you
guilty of this mischievous frolic! I must beg, however, since you have
gone thus far, that you will proceed a little farther, and send back
the dog to the person from whom you received him."

"No, not I! manage him all your own way: if you chuse to accept dogs
from gentlemen, you know, it is your affair, and not mine."

"If you really will not return him yourself, you must at least pardon
me should you hear that _I_ do in your ladyship's name."

Lady Honoria for some time only laughed and rallied, without coming to
any explanation; but when she had exhausted all the sport she could
make, she frankly owned that she had herself ordered the dog to be
privately stolen, and then sent a man with him to Mrs Charlton's.

"But you know," she continued, "I really owed you a spite for being so
ill-natured as to run away after sending me to call Mortimer to
comfort and take leave of you."

"Do you dream, Lady Honoria? when did I send you?"

"Why you know you looked as if you wished it, and that was the same
thing. But really it made me appear excessively silly, when I had
forced him to come back with me, and told him you were waiting for
him,--to see nothing of you at all, and not be able to find or trace
you. He took it all for my own invention."

"And was it _not_ your own invention?"

"Why that's nothing to the purpose; I wanted him to believe you sent
me, for I knew else he would not come."

"Your ladyship was a great deal too good!"

"Why now suppose I had brought you together, what possible harm could
have happened from it? It would merely have given each of you some
notion of a fever and ague; for first you would both have been hot,
and then you would both have been cold, and then you would both have
turned red, and then you would both have turned white, and then you
would both have pretended to simper at the trick; and then there would
have been an end of it."

"This is a very easy way of settling it all," cried Cecilia laughing;
"however, you must be content to abide by your own theft, for you
cannot in conscience expect I should take it upon myself."

"You are terribly ungrateful, I see," said her ladyship, "for all the
trouble and contrivance and expence I have been at merely to oblige
you, while the whole time, poor Mortimer, I dare say, has had his
sweet Pet advertised in all the newspapers, and cried in every market-
town in the kingdom. By the way, if you do send him back, I would
advise you to let your man demand the reward that has been offered for
him, which may serve in part of payment for his travelling expenses."

Cecilia could only shake her head, and recollect Mrs Delvile's
expression, that her levity was incorrigible.

"O if you had seen," she continued, "how sheepish Mortimer looked when
I told him you were dying to see him before he set off! he coloured
so!--just as you do now!--but I think you're vastly alike."

"I fear, then," cried Cecilia, not very angry at this speech, "there
is but little chance your ladyship should like either of us."

"O yes, I do! I like odd people of all things."

"Odd people? and in what are we so very odd?"

"O, in a thousand things. You're so good, you know, and so grave, and
so squeamish."

"Squeamish? how?"

"Why, you know, you never laugh at the old folks, and never fly at
your servants, nor smoke people before their faces, and are so civil
to the old _fograms_, you would make one imagine you liked nobody
so well. By the way, I could do no good with my little Lord Derford;
he pretended to find out I was only laughing at him, and so he minded
nothing I told him. I dare say, however, his father made the
detection, for I am sure he had not wit enough to discover it
himself."

Cecilia then, very seriously began to entreat that she would return
the dog herself, and confess her frolic, remonstrating in strong terms
upon the mischievous tendency and consequences of such inconsiderate
flights.

"Well," cried she, rising, "this is all vastly true; but I have no
time to hear any more of it just now; besides, it's only forestalling
my next lecture from Mrs Delvile, for you talk so much alike, that it
is really very perplexing to me to remember which is which."

She then hurried away, protesting she had already outstayed her
father's patience, and declaring the delay of another minute would
occasion half a dozen expresses to know whether she was gone towards
Scotland or Flanders.

This visit, however, was both pleasant and consolatory to Cecilia; who
was now relieved from her suspence, and revived in her spirits by the
intelligence that Delvile had no share in sending her a present,
which, from him, would have been humiliating and impertinent. She
regretted, indeed, that she had not instantly returned it to the
castle, which she was now convinced was the measure she ought to have
pursued; but to make all possible reparation, she determined that her
own servant should set out with him the next morning to Bristol, and
take a letter to Mrs Delvile to explain what had happened, since to
conceal it from any delicacy to Lady Honoria, would be to expose
herself to suspicions the most mortifying, for which that gay and
careless young lady would never thank her.

She gave orders, therefore, to her servant to get ready for the
journey.

When she communicated these little transactions to Mrs Charlton, that
kind-hearted old lady, who knew her fondness for Fidel, advised her
not yet to part with him, but merely to acquaint Mrs Delvile where he
was, and what Lady Honoria had done, and, by leaving to herself the
care of settling his restoration, to give her, at least, an
opportunity of offering him to her acceptance.

Cecilia, however, would listen to no such proposal; she saw the
firmness of Delvile in his resolution to avoid her, and knew that
policy, as well as propriety, made it necessary she should part with
what she could only retain to remind her of one whom she now most
wished to forget.

CHAPTER iii.

AN INCIDENT.

The spirits of Cecilia, however, internally failed her: she considered
her separation from Delvile to be now, in all probability, for life,
since she saw that no struggle either of interest, inclination, or
health, could bend him from his purpose; his mother, too, seemed to
regard his name and his existence as equally valuable, and the
scruples of his father she was certain would be still more
insurmountable. Her own pride, excited by theirs, made her, indeed,
with more anger than sorrow, see this general consent to abandon her;
but pride and anger both failed when she considered the situation of
his health; sorrow, there, took the lead, and admitted no partner: it
represented him to her not only as lost to herself, but to the world;
and so sad grew her reflections, and so heavy her heart, that, to
avoid from Mrs Charlton observations which pained her, she stole into
a summer-house in the garden the moment she had done tea, declining
any companion but her affectionate Fidel.

Her tenderness and her sorrow found here a romantic consolation, in
complaining to him of the absence of his master, his voluntary exile,
and her fears for his health: calling upon him to participate in her
sorrow, and lamenting that even this little relief would soon be
denied her; and that in losing Fidel no vestige of Mortimer, but in
her own breast, would remain; "Go, then, dear Fidel," she cried,
"carry back to your master all that nourishes his remembrance! Bid him
not love you the less for having some time belonged to Cecilia; but
never may his proud heart be fed with the vain glory of knowing how
fondly for his sake she has cherished you! Go, dear Fidel, guard him
by night, and follow him by day; serve him with zeal, and love him
with fidelity;--oh that his health were invincible as his pride!--
there, alone, is he vulnerable--"

Here Fidel, with a loud barking, suddenly sprang away from her, and,
as she turned her eyes towards the door to see what had thus startled
him, she beheld standing there, as if immoveable, young Delvile
himself!

Her astonishment at this sight almost bereft her of her understanding;
it appeared to her supernatural, and she rather believed it was his
ghost than himself. Fixed in mute wonder, she stood still though
terrified, her eyes almost bursting from their sockets to be satisfied
if what they saw was real.

Delvile, too, was some time speechless; he looked not at her, indeed,
with any doubt of her existence, but as if what he had heard was to
him as amazing as to her what she saw. At length, however, tormented
by the dog, who jumpt up to him, licked his hands, and by his
rapturous joy forced himself into notice, he was moved to return his
caresses, saying, "Yes, _dear Fidel!_ you have a claim indeed to
my attention, and with the fondest gratitude will I cherish you ever!"

At the sound of his voice, Cecilia again began to breathe; and Delvile
having quieted the dog, now entered the summer-house, saying, as he
advanced, "Is this possible!--am I not in a dream?--Good God! is it
indeed possible!"

The consternation of doubt and astonishment which had seized every
faculty of Cecilia, now changed into certainty that Delvile indeed was
present, all her recollection returned as she listened, to this
question, and the wild rambling of fancy with which she had
incautiously indulged her sorrow, rushing suddenly upon her mind, she
felt herself wholly overpowered by consciousness and shame, and sunk,
almost fainting, upon a window-seat.

Delvile instantly flew to her, penetrated with gratitude, and filled
with wonder and delight, which, however internally combated by
sensations less pleasant, were too potent for controul, and he poured
forth at her feet the most passionate acknowledgments.

Cecilia, surprised, affected, and trembling with a thousand emotions,
endeavoured to break from him and rise; but, eagerly detaining her,
"No, loveliest Miss Beverley," he cried, "not thus must we now part!
this moment only have I discovered what a treasure I was leaving; and,
but for Fidel, I had quitted it in ignorance for ever."

"Indeed," cried Cecilia, in the extremest agitation, "indeed you may
believe me Fidel is here quite by accident.--Lady Honoria took him
away,--I knew nothing of the matter,--she stole him, she sent him, she
did every thing herself."

"O kind Lady Honoria!" cried Delvile, more and more delighted, "how
shall I ever thank her!--And did she also tell you to caress and to
cherish him?--to talk to him of his master--"

"O heaven!" interrupted Cecilia, in an agony of mortification and
shame, "to what has my unguarded folly reduced me!" Then again
endeavouring to break from him, "Leave me, Mr Delvile," she cried,
"leave me, or let me pass!--never can I see you more!--never bear you
again in my sight!"

"Come, _dear Fidel!_" cried he, still detaining her, "come and
plead for your master! come and ask in his name who _now_ has a
proud heart, whose pride _now_ is invincible!"

"Oh go!" cried Cecilia, looking away from him while she spoke, "repeat
not those hateful words, if you wish me not to detest myself
eternally!"

"Ever-lovely Miss Beverley," cried he, more seriously, "why this
resentment? why all this causeless distress? Has not _my_ heart
long since been known to you? have you not witnessed